


A Closed Pocket

by Aurum18



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Betrayal, Book 10: Russian Roulette (Alex Rider), Coercion, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Hunter & Cossack - Freeform, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One-Sided Attraction, Russian Roulette, The John/Yassen is one sided and only really implied tbh, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:53:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26325943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurum18/pseuds/Aurum18
Summary: What if John Rider had been more careful and zipped up a certain pocket at an airport in France.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich & John Rider, Yassen Gregorovich/John Rider
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34





	A Closed Pocket

Terminal Two. Charles de Gaulle airport. The glass ceiling cast a grid of shadows on the floor and on the constant flow of people hurrying or strolling along the passage between waiting chairs and stores. 

On one of the rows of waiting chairs were two men who hardly looked out of place but really shouldn't have looked so ordinary. 

One was a man who looked to be in his mid to late twenties with dark eyes, a strong bone structure and a jaw set in a serious position. To someone who knew him very well, he looked satisfied, relieved, like a burden had been taken off his shoulders. Nobody in the airport knew him well enough though. He was a spy, a double agent even, and he kept his emotions very much hidden from unwelcome eyes. This was John Rider but he was known as Hunter to his companion. His companion was not at all aware that Rider was a double agent.

The man with him was younger, in his late teens. A lithe figure, fair haired, features almost feminine in their beauty. He was very pale and occasionally his eyes would dart nervously about him.

Yassen Gregorovich felt almost out of his body. What was happening almost felt like it was happening to someone else. He couldn't have killed that man, he just couldn't and so, not for the first time, his life was being turned upside down.

He had been trained as a contract killer but that would definitely not be his career now.

He felt almost like a ghost. Hunter had not been disapproving of him but , all the same, he felt like an outsider. He no longer belonged with this man. Yassen didn't belong in his sort of world anymore.

He had some plans as to his future- his training and life experiences before he had arrived at Malagosto would suit well to a job in a hotel. One like the George V, new hotels were appearing all over Russia and Yassen would blend in well and feel most comfortable in the country he had grown up in despite being fluent in several other languages. Hunter did not know of his plans but he had been the one to suggest Russia and Yassen trusted his advice.

Yassen's flight, and reason for being in the airport, was a jet to Berlin. Hunter had suggested this also, the place was a hub with many ways to disappear- from there Yassen could take a multitude of routes and choose from many options to work his way to Russia. Perhaps a train or bus. Maybe he could buy a car, invest some of the one hundred and fifty thousand euros he had drawn out from his account that morning. He would have to stretch this as far as he could whilst he found a job. Using the card again was not an option. Scorpia would be upon him in an instant.

The two of them had some time to kill before their flights which was why they were seated in the departure lounge. They were heading different ways, Hunter was returning to Scorpia. His flight was thirty minutes before Yassen's.

Yassen was about to turn another page of the magazine he was pretending to read, when Hunter put down his book.

'I fancy a coffee' he suddenly said. 'Can I get you one?' 

Yassen looked at him. 'No. I'm all right thanks.'

Hunter bent down, put his paperback inside his holdall and retrieved some money. The side pocket was open, Yassen wondered briefly how that had happened as his former mentor was such a careful man, but he quickly forgot as Hunter zipped it closed then stood up.

'It may take a while. There's a bit of a queue. Will you keep an eye on my things?'

'Sure' Yassen lifted his magazine again, ignoring the stab of pain that had broken through his numbness. Despite all they had been through, they were like two strangers. Casual acquaintances at best.

He wondered if he'd ever see Hunter again after he got on his flight. He doubted it. 

Hunter moved away in the direction of the cafeteria. Yassen looked at the luggage on the floor. Hunter had brought a small suitcase and the holdall as carry on. He picked up the holdall and placed it on the empty seat beside him for no good reason. Something to do, something to distract him from the swirling void inside.

Yassen went back to his magazine. Or rather, to his plans. He could head west to the Netherlands or east to Poland. He wouldn't be too far from the Czech Republic. He could easily pass as a student at any border crossing points and they probably wouldn't even bother to check his ID.

After a while, Yassen looked up to see Hunter walking towards him holding a coffee.

'Everything okay?'

'Yes' Yassen murmured.

'They've just called my flight' 

Hunter looked at Yassen, dark eyes piercing into his pale ones. Was he concerned? Despite all the time they had spent together, Yassen couldn't tell.

He glanced at the screen of the departure board. The flight to Rome, Hunter's flight, was blinking. Yassen had been so caught up in his thoughts he hadn't noticed. He didn't want to say goodbye. He realised, with a jolt, that he cared about Hunter a lot more than he'd been willing to admit to himself.

'Well it looks as if it's goodbye, Yassen. I wish you luck….wherever you decide to go.'

Yassen took a deep breath. This was it. 'Thank you, Hunter. I'll never forget you'

And he wouldn't. He was sure of that.

They shook hands. Rider noticed a weakness to Yassen's lower lip. He was upset. John wouldn't forget him either but he was glad. He hoped that the kid managed to live a long fulfilling life far away from Scorpia and was glad that he'd managed to succeed in protecting him from the terrorist organisation. 

Hunter picked up his cases and Yassen watched as he joined the queue and boarded his flight. He didn't turn around. Probably he didn't care. Possibly he was mad because, despite all his advice, he would now have to explain how he had lost Yassen to Scorpia. And Scorpia were not the forgiving sort. He trusted him though, he had saved his life before and risked failing an assignment and something deep inside Yassen told him that his position would not be given away. He trusted Hunter with his life.

The man was gone.

Out of Yassen's life.

Yassen sat in a haze and waited for boarding.

\--

The flight had felt longer than it was.

Yassen hasn't had anything to distract him from his thoughts and so it hadn't been fun.

The short knife. The policeman. Paris.

The week with Hunter, long runs and ice cream, visiting museums, playing at tourists. Hunter's wife, the curve of her pregnant stomach, her fair hair, the way they had embraced like they never wanted to let each other go.

The jungle. The constant invasive humidity, the target, the black widow, the all consuming fear of knowing he was going to die, the shock of finding himself alive after Hunter saved his life. The quiet moments at the termite nest. 

'You seem like a nice kid to me, Cossack.'

New York. The first of his two failed missions. The look in the journalist's eyes just before she died by someone else's hand instead.

Scorpia.

Was it too dangerous to be travelling by plane where Scorpia could check the passenger list? 

Hunter had suggested it though. He trusted Hunter. Surely it would be okay. He just had to get to Berlin then he could travel more safely. Undercover. He had been taught almost all the skills necessary.

The weeks at Malagosto. The other students. Colette. Julia Rothman.

The watch.

Yassen's mind also skimmed over his years with Sharkovsky. The escape. Dima. Where were Dima and the others now? Leo. Estrov. His grandmother. His parents.

It seemed like an eternity later that his ears started to pop from the pressure of descending and Berlin was in sight.

He would have to be careful now. Unless Scorpia had been tipped off they wouldn't know Yassen was here. Hunter wouldn't tell them. Eventually though, security footage was likely to be consulted and he would have to make sure his route wasn't tracked. He had decided on the flight to go to Poland first. It wasn't for a logical reason, it was equal to his other options and perhaps even less inviting. That would make him less predictable.

Yassen took his bag and made his way off the plane.

He was constantly alert. He couldn't help but worry. Had Hunter reached Rome yet? Would he tell them any information just to protect himself. No, he might eventually but not yet. Still , Scorpia was powerful and it was best to stay on guard.

He had no bags to collect, he had only the luggage he carried so he went straight onto passport control.

He was surrounded by the people from his flight and perhaps one other. There were business men in flight crumpled suits drooping from exhaustion. A group of girls who seemed to have gone on a trip together. A father and son. Nobody was dressed in overly expensive clothes. Everyone was average. There was a family who had been in good spirits on the flight but were now snapping at each other with children sulking as a passport appeared to have been misplaced. 

Suddenly, Yassen realised something unusual had happened, over the walk several men and a woman in front had slowed down and a few people behind had sped up and he wasn't far off being surrounded by people not from his flight.

Too late he realised that the people he had assumed were from another flight included no children. 

Was this Scorpia?

Yassen glanced around as subtly as he could, analysing the shape of the men and women around him. All muscular, fit. Good posture too. Almost soldier-like. He sped up his pace, maybe he could still get out. Surely even Scorpia couldn't cause a scene in a highly secure airport with many witnesses to boot.

His progress was stopped by a member of security. 

'Stop there sir please' the man addressed him in german.

Yassen slowed and looked around him, the arguing family continued on ahead. The group of girls was almost out of sight. A woman he recognised from his flight hurried past him. A business man sneered at him, assuming from the security that he was a common criminal, before he too hurried ahead.

The men and women Yassen suspected were undercover pressed around him and another security guard joined the first and he was forced to stop.

Yassen watched as the last of the civilians disappeared out of sight.

Had Hunter told Scorpia? He must have. He had been wrong to trust him. Yassen felt disgust well up inside him- Hunter was a trained assassin, trained to deceive people. Of course he shouldn't have trusted him. This whole thing had probably been a test. It was shocking he was still alive as he had failed so miserably. He wouldn't get a third chance certainly, but maybe they wanted to kill him slowly. Make an example of him.

'I'm sorry' said Yassen cooly, in the same language, doing his best to adopt a german accent, pretending to be a confused local. 'Is there a problem?'

He kept a relaxed posture, did his best to look politely concerned. He doubted it would do any good but he could try. There was a possibility that they only had a description and no picture. There had been a few other blonde men on the flight. They might believe they had made a mistake if he sold his act well. He might still get out of this.

The guards didn't say a word and stayed in place. The people around him had formed a barrier. Yassen could see no way to fight his way out if these men and women were as trained as he suspected they were.

Yassen wouldn't go down without a struggle though.

He was in a passageway. One wall was a two way mirror, the type you often see in an airport and Yassen caught sight of his own reflection. His bearing looked casual. His face calm. He was, however, ready to launch an attack at a moment's notice.

He caught sight of a man behind him moving forwards in the mirror and instantly his leg lashed out, catching him in the stomach and sending him flying into a woman behind him before the others had sufficient time to react . He had dropped his bag in the process and Yassen just managed to punch another in the face before he was grabbed and held in place, knees slammed painfully onto the floor. 

A man came towards him and took his chin in his hand, forcing eye contact. 'Yassen Gregorovich?'

Yassen clenched his mouth shut stubbornly and refused to give a response. They knew his name. It was definitely Scorpia. It had almost certainly been Hunter who had given him away, why had he been so stupid as to trust a man like that?

'Not going to answer?' 

Yassen yanked his limbs, testing the strength of those restraining him. He could barely move an inch.

There was no use arguing his way out now. No ordinary person would have the skills he had demonstrated in his futile effort at escape. No ordinary, innocent person would have fought full stop.

There was a short wait then the man's attention drifted and he nodded. Orders from an earpiece?

Then he was handed a syringe.

Yassen swore and tried his hardest to escape from the hold he was in, but in the end their grip was relentless and he was powerless as his sleeve was rolled up and the needle sent directly into the thickest vein.

'Tell Hunter' slurred Yassen as the world started to go hazy at the edges. The passageway and the hired hand's faces swam and loop the looped. 'Tell him to go fuck himself'

\---

Mrs Jones looked at the man in front of her. Man. Really he was more of a boy. He was only 19 and his face hadn't quite lost the softness of youth. He was cuffed to a chair underneath MI6's headquarters and very much unconscious.

Blonde hair curled softly over his forehead. His lips were slightly parted. Long lashes rested against his cheeks. He looked like an angel but Tulip Jones and the man beside her, Alan Blunt, knew the truth. 

He had been trained as a Scorpia operative. Despite never having graduated, he was quite deadly and extremely skilled. John Rider had reminded them as such in Charles De Gaulle airport when he had bought a coffee as a cover to get on the phone to his true employers.

John Rider was the best of their agents and both the spymasters completely trusted his intel and assessment of the man in front of them. Yassen Gregorovich was actually Yasha Gregorovich from a ghost town called Estrov. He had no identity on any database but Scorpia's. He was fluent in several languages. He was young but experienced. Trained in hand to hand combat and weaponry as well as all the other skills that were a part of a Malagosto education and thanks to their undercover man he was no longer Scorpia's but theirs. Property of MI6.

'He'll be very useful' decided Blunt who had completed his own assessment of the unconscious teen.

'If he co-operates' edged Jones. 'Rider warned of a stubborn personality and a sense of almost inexplicable desperation to become an assassin. Loyal yes, but definitely not to us.'

Gregorovich had been carefully apprehended in Berlin and transported under the radar to London. Scorpia's predicted future crown jewel snatched from under their noses.

Blunt studied him carefully, Jones could almost spot a hint of a smirk and could definitely see a glint of greed in his eyes. She would be reminded of this moment 14 years later when Alan Blunt would have much the same expression watching live footage of a younger teenager launch himself out a high storey window of the very building above them to gain access to a locked office.

'I think he will co-operate. In fact, I'm sure.' said Blunt.

Tulip glanced again at the boy. He still hadn't stirred. He looked pitifully innocent. Blunt was right. Yassen Gregorovich had nobody but Scorpia to miss him, no records, technically he didn't exist. They owned him. They could do what they liked to him for however long it took him to break. She didn't think it would take much, she had read his file and John Rider's report. He had turned to the career he had because he felt he had no choice. That there was no other option. Rider had described him as empathetic, quite soft and innocent under a hardened exterior he tried his best to hide behind. Given the option to do good, his conscience would win the fight for them. Even if he despised MI6, his morals would win. 

Besides, if all else failed, John Rider had informed them of the crush Gregorovich harboured for him. Rider would be retrieved soon anyway, his child was almost due to be born and he wanted to be there when it happened. Rider had already proven his influence by skilfully manipulating the boy into refusing to kill and deciding to escape a formidable, far reaching terrorist agency.

Blunt and Jones were perfectly aware of the weapons in their arsenal and they were also aware, as the blonde boy's eyes slowly flickered open, that one day Yassen Gregorovich would become just one more.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! I'm not sure if I'm the first to play with this idea, probably not tbh because I think the potential is massive. Yassen speculates in Russian Roulette if MI6 would have been waiting in Berlin to capture him but he definitely didn't consider that they might have recruited him. I'm not sure if Blunt and Jones were in their same positions at the time but it was a guess from me reading Nightshade recently. I do have a sneaking suspicion that it might have said in Scorpia that Jones was in a lower role back then though. She was on Albert Bridge though so I could still see this happening I suppose. This is my first Alex Rider fanfiction and I hope I captured the tone right. If you have time please tell me what you think :D


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